Scattered Moonbeams
by The Spectrum Sings
Summary: Artists can colour the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must colour things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid. Luna's pov, Luna/Hermione Hogwarts AU
1. Chapter 1

**Hello. Yay, Hermione/Luna. This might end up a little depressing again, but we'll aim for a happy ending, hey? This is Luna's point of view, set a Hogwarts and contains suggestions of self harm/death, nothing graphic or violent. Enjoy and review. :)**

Summer is ending and sleepy September is lingering on the horizon.

It's _not_ right to feel like everyone hates you. The doctor gave me a bottle of little brown pills and went on his way, but I wonder what it's really done. The worry remains like the scars on my skin that I'm too afraid to make. Oh, but they're there. I long to feel the laughs I paint on my face, the mask that feels oh so very real. That's what practice will do for you. But at the end of the day, all that remains is my fear and worryworryworry. Why do I worry so well, but never seem to feel?

It's autumn. Just like that. And now autumn is upon us, it seems the world has become fresh and new once again. There is beauty in the fallen slivers of red, gold, rusty brown. There are mysteries in the silver dust of low hanging clouds. There is movement everywhere; the scurrying of animals, the mournful tones of birds not yet departed. Beauty is everywhere. Beauty is in everyone. But not in me.

September 1st is still warm. It is warm enough that as I stand on the crowded, dusty platform, I shrug off my sunshine yellow jumper and twist it around my waist. My jeans are too tight. I suddenly hope the reason no one is speaking to me is because they cannot see me. I recognise many people that swirl around me but neither I nor they make any effort to begin a conversation. I can almost pretend it is silent. Everyone is talking and I just don't want to. I shrink back, trying to melt away. The whistle sounds, echoing and seeping, unwanted, into my brain. It's hard to ignore. With the shrill buzz still bouncing around, I drag my trunk towards the steaming, crimson Hogwarts Express. My sixth year seems a lifetime away rather than a train ride.

"Hey Luna, did you have a good summer?" Ginny Weasley helps me heave my trunk onto the train and mimics my footsteps into our now shared compartment. Crowds of people creep by the open compartment door. Their movements are so fast it could be a dance.

"I did, it was quite wonderful. Daddy and I found a new breed of Nargles." I say. The 'quite wonderful' is, of course, a lie. I spend most of the holidays locked in my room, twisting a razor blade around in my fingers, unsure what to do with myself, my life, my future.

Ginny smiles politely. "How nice, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Harry and Hermione spend most of the summer with us, so we had loads of fun." She informs me. I wonder if she expects me to be jealous. Then she squeals, bouncing in her seat, her scarlet hair flying around her heart shaped face. Harry, Hermione and Ron stand in the door way, lazily leaning on one another with shared, reassuring smiles.

"Hiya, Harry." She says as the three new comers take their seats. I wish I had a compartment to myself. Hermione sits beside me, squishing up to make room for Ron. I breathe in her perfume before hiding myself away inside the book I am clutching. I do not remember removing it from my bag. I presume I did so as to make Ginny realise I was busy reading so she would leave. I smell the familiar pages of _Alice in Wonderland_ and smile sweetly to myself. I glance up quickly. Ron is trying to pull Hermione into the conversation he and Harry are having and she looks oddly lost. Ginny is hanging on every word. I sigh; she fawns over Harry like a lost puppy. It's adorable, but annoying. I slip into the world of wonderland.

"I love _Alice in Wonderland_." Hermione's words wash over me, her breath tingling my bare neck. "I didn't know you read muggle books, Luna?" I glance up. Everyone is grasped in their own conversations; no one is listening to Hermione's words. I wonder how Hermione managed to untangle Ron from her.

"Oh, yes," I say, quietly, slowly, "I like a few different muggle authors. I also enjoy Shakespeare." I add. I am thinking of the beautiful sonnets and lingering words.

Hermione's face brightens. "Have you read _Romeo and Juliet_?" I think this is the only conversation we have had that does not include her telling me Nargles aren't real. I find myself resting my tattered book on my lap and giving her my full attention.

"Yes, it was beautiful and haunting, although I think my favourite piece of muggle literature has to be To Kill a Mocking Bird." I tell her. She smiles, it's sweet and innocent and I wonder if she has ever felt lust. She doesn't look like the type. She simply looks pure.

"My favourite is Pride and Prejudice." She says, leaning closer to me. I grin; it's such a Hermione book. She stares at me, just watching and waiting and the way she looks at me... It leaves me breathless.

The lights above us flicker and all our conversations simultaneously pause. Outside the sky is black and shots of lightening trickle like blood through the darkness. Darkness is found in our deepest parts of mind, somewhere more important than the heart. A cold place where we cannot see, because every time we look we can't see anything other than the light we let in. The lights flicker again.

"Spooky." Ginny jokes, but Harry's eyes cloud over. He unconsciously clicks the door locked and slides his wand into his hand. I know he is thinking about the dementors. I feel Hermione slide closer to me still as I slink a hand across the glass window; it is cold but not unnaturally so. It is just the storm, damaging the power, causing it to misbehave.

"It's just the storm, Harry." I say dreamily, "There is no need to worry." He swallows visibly and tries to relax.

I see Ginny open her mouth to snap at me but Harry beats her to it: "Thank you, Luna." He nods and I nod in return. I wonder what I stand for. Most nights I don't know anymore.

Slowly, everyone returns to their conversations but the lights continue to dim in time with the deep flashes of white against the dark hollow sky. I can feel Hermione's arm pressed against mine. I am not sure what I think about Hermione. I glance at her through my eye lashes and am surprised: she is asleep. A flicker echoes in my heart and I think I blush. No one pays us any notice.

I think I would love to paint her. I want to be an artist. Artists can colour the sky red because they know it's blue. Those of us who aren't artists must colour things the way they really are or people might think we're stupid.

I see a parade of colours bursting at the seams, the magnificent reality of a breathtaking world of which granted access is imperative, propriety is to be kept in mind, and cohesion is lethal. I want to submerge myself in the heart of the ocean, the most abundant chamber, where glistening turquoise dissolves into lavender, where every being is significantly acclaimed, bridging the space between air and water, liberal and narrow, all for the absolutely exhilarating adventure of a lifetime.

I wonder if Luna Lovegood can be anything but 'loony.' I wonder if I can break my own stereotype. I discretely lace my fingers with Hermione's and continue into the world of Alice.

I wonder if Hermione can see me.

_Do you see me? __Do you see me standing behind you as you laugh? Do you see me crying behind my books? Do you see me walk to class alone? Who am I kidding? You can't see me._

We still have a few hours to go as I drift into an unease sleep, my head dropping on to Hermione's shoulder, her head resting on mine.


	2. Chapter 2

I drift back into reality as the Hogwarts Express trickles to a halt like a river running dry. I nudge Hermione and she flinches into an awkward position, moving ungracefully and droopy with sleep. She yawns; her cheeks tinted a sleepy rose. Harry and Ron are packing up their cards and Ginny has already departed. Ron glances at Hermione as she yawns; his eyes trail her spine and linger on the exposed flesh where her jumper rises. I gently pull her jumper down for her without thinking. Hermione smiles gratefully like my motion was normal and had not caused Ron's eyes to widen. Maybe she did not see the accusation in his eyes.

He is jealous and I am jealous that he thinks he has any hold over her. She does not belong to him.

_I'm jealous of your friends, and your enemies, and your family, and your acquaintances, and your strangers, and your friends who are no longer friends. I'm jealous of them, I always have been, and I always will be. I want to be one of them, or among them, around them, with them, near them, as long as it means I can be around you, and with you, and near you. I want you here, now, not there, with them._

"Good morning, star shine, the world says hello..." Harry sings under his breath. Harry and Ron are already in their robes and I wish I hadn't fallen asleep. In a dash, Hermione and I yank our robes on, twisting them into place while Ron clicks his tongue. Hermione's ponytail comes loose and she shakes her head like a lions mane, letting the wavy golden brown strands settle down her back.

Hermione and I stand, joining the others in the multitude of students exiting the train. The swarm of students divides slowly, and I watch a group of first years huddle, shaking. I wonder if I should say something, anything. Hermione follows my gaze and opens her mouth. It is another Hermione like thing: to reassure others. Before she can speak, Ron does.

"Hurry up, girls!" he calls. He and Harry are waiting at a carriage. Every aspect and feature on the carriages is stunning. The pattern is like silver ivy, swirling, growing, and floating along the shimmering wood. I lock eyes with Harry for a second. Neither of us mentions the Thestrals as we scale the steps into the carriage. I close my eyes, my thoughts drift like clouds and hover over the graceful horse skeleton like creatures.

"Are you okay?" Hermione's words taste like honey as they invade my mind.

"I'm fine." I say. She nods and sits back. I wonder if I have been too harsh, maybe my words weren't as soft as I intended. "What did you like about _Pride and Prejudice_?" I add, enticing her back into our conversation. She smiles, sliding back towards me and away from the dark mutterings of Harry and Ron.

"The way it is written draws me in." She says, "It's so beautiful and different from books now. It makes me feel as if I have fallen backward through time."

I wonder what it is about Hermione that has changed. She seems more relaxed, less argumentative, more herself, less controlled. Her eyes sparkle as she tells me about Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. I do not tell her I have read the book; instead I let her weave the story from the stars in the sky, turning the words to silver. The story is much more interesting from her lips. I watch her rose lips as she talks, the shape they make on certain letters, the cute, round pout that forms the letter o. She is beautiful.

I do not notice when we arrive. Hermione looks up, puzzled, cute, and lost. Ron offers his hand and she ignores it, not unkindly. She offers a polite nod and skips down herself, pausing until I am beside her before continuing the short walk into the Great Hall.

I depart from Hermione and feel a spark dim. It feels as if the feast is over even before I sit down. It is like being underwater. Bubbles erupt from my mouth as I try and scream. No one is here to listen, it's too late, too little, and I am gone. I watch the sorting with a dreamy unfocused eye. The names of the students disappear from my mind moments after they have been read out.

I file out with the rest of the Ravenclaw students, searching for Hermione's face in the horde of capes, hats and a rainbow of ties. I take a right, following the familiar warn corridor, breathing in the sense of memory.

"Hi, Luna." Molly says, swinging an arm round my shoulders in a half hug. I flinch away and she steps to the side, offering an apologetic smile. I still find it odd that my dorm mates talk to me. It is I, Molly, Jasmine and Quinn in our room. I do not really know any of them and yet I see their secret habits, their secret relationships, tears and tantrums daily.

"Hello." I reply. Quinn nods and smiles. Jasmine yawns, leaning into Molly slightly as we walk in an awkward four up the stairs.

Of the three of them, Quinn is my favourite because she is a complete bitch. She's smart and cute and a _bitch_. She is herself and I love that about her. Quinn has cobalt blue eyes and golden short hair that curls just under her ear; she is naturally pretty, like an innocent pixie and I have never seen her with make-up although she is from a muggleborn family. I wonder if she just doesn't _care_.

Molly has dark hair, it reminds me of ropes, as it tends to hang in one long auburn plait down her back. Her eyes are pearly blue and sharp. Jasmine's hair is much lighter, a sunburnt golden colour that reminds me of summer time. She is pretty enough, but she is quite. A good little Ravenclaw. I wonder if she is quiet for a reason or simply has nothing to say. Looks wise, we are all quite different. Personality wise, I would be the odd one out. I am the odd one out. I am not sure what else even I would expect. I like them well enough but I want a real friend.

I want Hermione.

I want something to tell me, warn me, save me from all the unnecessary wallowing, the needless sprawling and meandering and waiting. From all the wasted brain space. From everything. A lurking entity to subside the conspicuous sadness, the endless agonizing for something unattainable, some out-of-reach, hopeless dream. Save me from this hopeless, ill-faded trance.

The Ravenclaw common room is full. Girls and boys drift about, catching up with friends and sharing tales of summer. Quinn vanishes immediately, floating into a group of blonde stuck-up sixth years. She is welcomed with open arms.

I watch Molly closely, for I fear something is wrong. She twists her hands together, looking uneasy. It is then I see the way she glances at Jasmine. She is feeling what I am feeling for Hermione. Lust. Longing. Maybe love.

Our room is quite, pretty and cosy. The others will not retire to bed for many hours. I would not be surprised if a few were already studying. Our beds are draped in blue and bronze fabrics and curtains, each with its own bedside table and silver candle. My bed is furthest from the door, against the window. I meander to my bed, sliding my worn ropes off, along with my sunny jumper and stiff jeans, throwing them into a disorganized pile at the end of the bed.

I remember my bed being comfortable, full of snippets of dreams of Hermione.

Yet now the bed was hard, rivalling rocks; compared to the one that had long since been abandoned, collecting dust in a room where the only scent that seeped in was of wretched things thought of and created in minds of vile children whose lovely place had been torn down and burnt to ash. And they were left here in this unknown place to fend for themselves and rebuild the house and grow the garden and pick the flowers. The same flowers that produced the lovely aroma that seeped under all the doors in the depths of the night.

I slither under the covers, shivering and bite my lip. I wonder what Hermione dreams of and I wonder why this deep, haunting lingering for her touch has developed in my very soul.

I drink in the night and swallow the stars. Searing down my throat is an inky river of fireflies, and I can feel warmth spreading like flickering flames until my fingernails burn pink with light. I breathe in: the dust of dreams swirls around me and embroiders itself into my eyelashes, sweater, and soul. "Good night," whispers the moon; "sleep tight," wish the stars. And I, with the feeling of weightlessness, descend into an ethereal slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Everything looks perfect from far away.

The first day of classes is a day full of streams of homework and sinking back into routines. Ginny is in a few of my classes, but she has friends, and so generally, I sit alone. I have always found the way Ginny acts strange; as around different people, she also is different. I wonder if Harry has seen the Ginny who flicks her hair back and pouts at these boys. Sometimes, I sit with Quinn. We both just get on with things.

Like hot air balloons, all of us are engineered to soar to great heights. Unfortunately, many of us "sandbag" ourselves. We do things, we think things, and we believe things that hold us down. We get insecure, fearful, and jealous. We judge people, think negatively and make excuses for our unhappiness. We become our biggest obstacle. Imagine what it would be like if we got out of our own way. I need to get out of my own way and make this day different.

The problem is we want change. We wish for something different to come and sweep us off and away. But really, when that something different comes and knocks on our door we turn away. When it's not exactly what we expected we run away from it thinking it can do nothing but harm. When in fact we should embrace it, accept the fact that things don't always go to plan and learn to live with what's thrown our way.

This lunchtime I will not sit alone in the Ravenclaw common room or wander the twisting hallways while wondering my mind. I will find Hermione. Life's too short to care at all. I don't want the control. It's easier to watch things float beyond your reach. It's terrifying, but worth it.

I float into the library, thinking of butterflies. I think I would like to be a butterfly. A butterfly is an insect typically having a slender body with antennae and broad colourful wings, and maybe it is called butterfly because of its tendency to "flutter by." In this moment, I am a butterfly.

Hermione is hunched over a table, scribbling furiously in her neat printed hand writing. Her messy wavy hair is in a bun, loose strains trickle down her back. She looks gorgeous.

I slide into the seat opposite her and brush my silvery blonde hair behind my ears. Hermione's eyes flick up, and I see her small smile at my radish ear rings.

"Hello 'Mione." I say in a sing song voice.

"I'm 'Mione now, am I?" A smile spreads across her face and I blush. Her smile is a facial expression implemented by girls to kill and enslave entire populations.

I shrug. "Luna and 'Mione." I say. "Do you think it has a ring to it?" She smirks slightly, placing her quill down on the table.

"Maybe." She allows. "Want to go for a walk?" She adds quickly, shuffling her papers.

"Sure." I answer quickly. She piles her books into her bag and the material bulges uncomfortably. She has so many books; I image her house as having towers of them. She throws her bag over her shoulder and stands gracefully. For a moment, I think she is about to offer me her hand, then she pulls back and waits for me to stand. I wish I had the courage to reach out and link our fingers.

Together, we drift towards the lake.

_There are times when I can feel my soul pressing against the inside of my skin and prickling out through my fingertips; times when the sky is pressing in and world is suddenly more real and more vivid than anyone could have ever guessed.  
You make me feel small and giant, beginning and endless, empty and full and happy and sad and so human. But more than that - you make me feel what I want to be most: alive. _

It is a strange feeling, to be walking beside Hermione, our arms brushing and words mingling. It also feels so very right. Students linger, a group of first years rush past and I spy Fred and George skipping rocks a few metres along from us, charming the water to splash rainbow colours. I must ask them how... I imagine a rainbow shower and a bath full of swirling multicoloured liquid, almost looking like spilled petrol on the roadside. I wonder if Hermione would join me for my shower...

"Luna?" Hermione yawns. I wonder if she knows how adorable that just was.

"Mmm?" I ask. She just smiles.

"What were you smirking about?"

"Oh, nothing." I lie lightly. I tug her hand as I sit on the shore, the dreary water lapping at my black converse. She slips down beside me, scooting closer. I see her glance around warily, uncomfortably. Everyone seems to be drifting back towards the castle. A storm is coming. The sky is black and thunder rumbles on the horizon. Fred and George loiter for a moment before the first raindrop hits but with an amused glance in our direction, they take off, skipping.

A few scattered drops trickle around us.

"Well, our visit outside has been short lived." Hermione whispers lightly.

"It's only water." I say quickly and seriously.

"Well then," She smiles, "let's get wet." I grin.

_Have you ever locked yourself in the bathroom and drawn red patterns in your skin, trying to replace an inner pain with a physical one?_

_Have you ever been too scared to go into the kitchen, afraid that you'll cave and dive for the knives?_

_Have you ever hated the cuts so much and been so scared of people knowing the truth that you bruise instead because nobody notices bruises?_

The thunder roars as I pull Hermione to her feet, chuckling. "Care to dance?" I spin her in a circle. We stumble, sliding in the mud and gripping each other tightly to remain upright. The thunder reminds me of howls. The hounds of the skies set loose, growing and playing in the endless sky.

"Luna." She gasps, her foot slipping as we stagger in tears of laughter in the downpour. We could almost be under water. My hair is plastered to my face, slick against my skin. I shiver, holding her up in my arms and giggling quietly.

"It's only water." I repeat, leaning dangerously close to her parted lips. Hermione's eyes flicker and she leans forwards slightly. I want to kiss her. I don't want to be one of those easily forgotten people, so important at the time, so special, so influential, so treasured, yet years later just a vague face and a distant memory.

_I'm tired of your perfection and the restlessness it inspires within me. I'm tired of your love for words and phrases and ideas. Sometimes, it's okay just to sit back and close your eyes. Sometimes, it's okay not to think._

"Hermione." I say. She slowly blinks water from her eyes. "We should go inside now."

She nods, distracted, confused, and shivering. I carefully pull her up right, peck her cool cheek and walk away. After a second, I hear her trailing behind me.

"Luna!" She calls. I turn immediately and, just, oh. She kisses me. There is a magic that happens when hipbones touch open palms. There is the goodnight kiss through soft fading fabric when lovers' goodbyes pervade the perfume of the timid night air. At first the flames lick gently on the lips of gently glowing lightning bugs. There is uncertainty in the air. But somehow, the feeding of lips and hands births this hungry creature in a lover's heart. And in that magic moment, mistakes and unclasped kneecaps leave men and men, men and women, women and women and loving creatures crippled and weak with passion.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey :) Sorry for the rather short chapter. You guys can have an extra long one next time, promise. Reviews make orphan penguins happy.**

Her kiss is like fire burning through my soul. It is frost biting on my heart. Neither mind skipping a beat, could it have stopped beating? In this moment all I can feel is Hermione's hands on my waist, her lips like silk against mine and my pounding pulse. The rain is nothing.

_And now, how, we like to say that we're in love,  
Doesn't it, seem like that should be enough,  
But, the world will roll their eyes but I still think,  
Well I still think that we're in love._

"I shouldn't have done that." She whispers against my lips. I kiss her again, gently. She shakes her hair but makes no move to slip from my arms. Hermione buries her face against my neck, her long eyelashes tickling my flesh. My heart is beating so fast. I can feel my pulse _everywhere_.

"Do you regret doing so?" I say in hushed, hollow tones. She is an angel; all that she misses are wings.

She slides away from me, her eyes wide and glistening. "I don't want to be late." Hermione murmurs. She leaves me standing in the rain. When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.

I think it hurts even more because I cannot bring myself to love her any less.

The rain soaks me down to my very soul before I walk, cold, shaking and empty, into the castle. Its walls hold me and comfort me as I stumble through its bones into a classroom. I enter as the bell draws students in. I am not the only student in dripping clothes. Professor Flickwick sighs, casting warming and drying spells across the classroom. It is kind and calming and all at once I feel a little safer.

Molly drops into the seat beside me and I smile at her, grateful. I wonder why she did not sit with Jasmine, why she looks so concerned. Molly looks so much older suddenly.

"What's wrong?" She whispers kindly, inking the date in her notebook.

"Nothing." I answer.

"You're crying." Molly states coolly.

Sometimes, I let the panic crawl up into my throat and choke me. Panic that this is the only place I will ever know, this constant state of yearning and the ever present pressure inside my head, waiting for answers. It makes me sad that the only bit of solace I've found is that of books, of others writing, words arranged delicately, precisely. It's interesting, really, how much I want to find myself through words. But for now, all I have is the pressure in my head and the panic in my throat.

"I'm not." I say but I realise that I am on the verge of sobbing. Tears weigh down my eyelids and I sniff, taking shuddering breaths as I feel a dull ache sweep over my head. I am quivering with emotion. My deepest feelings, straining against my skin, spilling from my lips, pouring from my eyes. Undefined, raw. Boundless. It's a wonder no one sees. The very air must be trembling. I ache with overwhelming passion. Everything my senses take in simply fuel it all. Every beautiful lyric, every stunning image, every cruel comment, every heartbreaking story. Like a physical entity, forcing itself out of my body. I want to scream with the joy and pain of it all. We kissed. She left.

"Professor Flickwick, Sir, may I take Luna to see Madam Pomfrey?" Molly raises her hand to ask. He glances at me and does a poor job of hiding his surprise. He nods quickly, not offering a formal reply before Molly ushers me from the room. Flickwick's express has frightened me.

In the hallway, I flow to the floor. I flow like a broken dam. A vortex of tears and emotions.

"I think I'm in love with Hermione Granger." I say dreamily, drifting and sighing. Tears do not halt their descent down my cheeks. "And she doesn't... she doesn't..." I don't know what she doesn't think or doesn't want. How can I ask her when she fled from my arms?

Molly nods in understanding. "Ice cream." She says like this will fix all the world's problems. I wonder briefly and hopefully if maybe it will.

"Am I broken?" I ask her as she tickles the summer ripened pear in the slumbering painting.

"Depends what kind of broken." She says lightly. "Broken as in unable to function? Shattered to pieces? Or now some cliché in muggle music." It takes me a moment before I remember she is a half blood. It takes me a moment to wonder why she did not just say 'music.'

The kitchen is warm and full of rivers of life. House elves dash in-between us and around us, preparing dinner.

"The kind of broken where without her I am nothing." I say in explanation.

"Don't be silly." Molly scolds. She claims a bench, pulling me beside her. It is not the same beside that I share with Hermione.

"What can I get you, Miss?" A chirpy elf asks with a bow. His long nose almost touches the ground.

"Your best ice cream, please." Together, we demolish two tubs of cherry and mint ice cream. I feel sick yet calm.

"I like Jasmine." Molly whispers suddenly. I look at her. I already knew, of course, but it is different to hear her admit it aloud.

"So tell her." I command almost sharply.

"What if she leaves, like Hermione did?" She protests.

"What if she doesn't?" Molly shakes her head. I can tell playing with 'what if's is not helping either of us.

"So, are you, like a lesbian?" I find this whole conversation odd. This is not a question I have ever really considered, let alone asked of somebody else.

"I'm a person." She says defensively.

"Let's go." I say, rolling my eyes because I never said she wasn't.

Molly slinks off to her last class and I depart to the Ravenclaw dorms.

I lie my head down, and I close my eyes. I set my mind to calm, and I let my body rest and drift away. I don't think about tomorrow. I don't think about the worries of yesterday. The inquiries of the future. The mistakes of the past. The troubles going out outside my windows. I don't worry. I don't think. I just lie down. Calm and steady. Quietly. As serenity takes its toll onto my beautiful life—I lie. Re-gathering my lost sanity, I lie.

I am lost and found and lost again.

There is this creature that lies heavy in the soul-a wicked thing with an insatiable appetite. It entangles itself with the nerves and bathes in the blood. It nibbles at the marrow and gnaws at the vacuoles. It laps at the rage and erodes the embitterment. It sinks its serrated teeth into the anguish until there is no more. Not one thing. Of all of the parasites, it is hardest to rid. Apathy, I beg you please run far from me. I long to feel again.

I long to feel Hermione's touch, her caresses, her smooth skin and desperate gaze.

I sit up, bunching my bed covers in my fists. "Hermione." I whimper. I need her.

I stand on unsteady feet, fighting tears that threaten to overcome my very soul. No more indifference, ennui, lethargy or lack of concern. I will find her and find her truth. She must tell me: yes or no. Or I will surely die from love and longing.


	5. Chapter 5

Classes have just ended and I rush towards the Great hall for that is surly where everyone is headed. Of course, it is crowded, and of course, I will find her.

"Hermione!" I crave a love so deep the ocean would be jealous.

_My eyes coast the curve of your jaw warily, and I tire of the thirst for your touch. My fingers weaken in strength, and I ache to hold your hand. My tongue brushes my lips unconsciously, and I sigh because you do not notice, you never notice, you never see._

She turns, her eyes ghosting over me. Somehow, through the crowd of students rushing to dinner, her eyes meet mine. In the middle of the sea of bodies, I wrap my arms around her and hold tight. Her hands tangle in my shirt, holding me closer. It is a crazy, clinging, desperate embrace.

"Do you want us to wait?" Harry asks awkwardly. I did not notice him beside her. Nor did I notice Ron, glaring, red and disapproving.

"No, thank you." Hermione says. We stay, hugging, holding, and wishing for a few moments longer. Then it is broken. I wonder if I had been Hermione, would I have run. I will never be Hermione and she shall never be me. I hope that maybe one day it will be LunaandHermione instead of Luna and Hermione. We will be united.

"Alright, dykes?" Draco calls as he saunters past, a huge smirk pasted across his pale face. "Weasley will be ever so disappointed, won't he?" He adds as an afterthought.

Hermione flinches away from me at the word 'dykes' and remains frozen, wide eyed and silent as Draco slips into the hall. A thousand injustices are swirling round my mind and I'm starved for success. No one even sees me; I'm just one of a colourful cast of characters, forever ensemble. How can I tell you who I am if you think you know? How could you see me with eyes closed? I'm lazy, abrasive, insecure, and I feel the need to shout it because no one seems to think I have any feelings at all. I've stabbed myself and all they do is twist the knife and see how dark my blood really is, never sated by its crimson glisten. I have feelings, oh, I do. I am in love with Hermione Granger. And Hermione Granger is too scared to admit that maybe she loves me too. That hurts so much more than the twist and drag on the knife across my prominent hip bones.

It seems sudden all the other fish have been caught and It is only Hermione and I left in the ocean.

"Are you okay?" I whisper into the dark lonely waves.

"No. I think we need to talk." She says. I nod. "Not here." She adds when I stay rooted to my spot.

Hermione walks with purpose, drifting quickly through corridors, knowing I will follow. Sometimes the wanting hurts too much, in a deep-down silent way that cannot be described. Sometimes the wanting is just the echo of a whisper at the nape of your neck, barely noticed and then forgotten (but waiting, always waiting). This feeling is one that cannot be described by petty language - it is a deep ancient ache in your belly that has no choice but to burst forth in a primal, guttural scream of longing.

The seventh floor, the Room of Requirement. This is where she leads me.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" I whisper in her ear as the doors swing open in front of us. I am hoping she will return with a quote, or tell me about her favourite sonnet, but she says nothing.

The room before us has walls coated in bookshelves, a fire in the centre and the floor is littered in fluffy cream pillows and thick shaggy rugs. It looks like a home. I wonder if it could ever be _our _home. Hermione shivers and ignores me, stalking into the room and sitting by the fire. A warm, cinnamon tasting air floats around the room, soothing our cold, aching limbs.

I sit beside her, not too close, not too far I cannot reach out and take her hand. I cling my hands together, not trusting myself to not reach out and interlink us.

"I'm not a lesbian. My life is practically planned out. I'll end up with Ron, I'm have a life, I'll be happy." Hermione states after an awkward pause where she realises I am waiting for her to speak.

"Will that really make you happy?" I ask doubtfully. She looks at me strangely, like I am the first to ask. Her expression is one of astonishment and awe.

"No." Hermione breathes. "You make me happy." Her face turns instantly cherry.

"Then let me make you happy." I whisper. "I love you." I think if my tongue was made from glass I would be a lot more careful when I speak. But, oh, she smiles. A watery tear filled smile. The cherry stains on her cheek grown as she formulates a response.

"I... I..." She stutters, reaching out to me. She bites her lip in confusion, but the joy radiates in her shining eyes. You were the one who yearned to see the skyline, yearned for simplicity and freedom.

"You made me remember what countryside felt like. You made me remember what the present had made me forget and what my ancestors couldn't remind me. That my surroundings weren't real. That the infinite rush and worry weren't worth fighting for. That the rules made weren't always right. You made me feel the moss under my feet and the moonlight on my skin. And, for that, I will not forget you. For that, my love is yours." I say certainly.

"Luna..." She murmurs, and suddenly swiftly pulls me closer. "I love you too." Her words are so beautiful to me that I could sob. I could fly and scream and laugh forever.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it, don't do this if you are going to break promises." I warn.

"I mean it." She says kissing me softly. "I promise." Another small kiss graces my lips. Is there a reason for this endless wanting; a wanting that leaves me reaching and grasping at the pointless horizon of Never Haves and Never Wills? It leaves my bones empty and hollow, like a bird. But aren't birds supposed to be able to fly - wings outstretched, glorious and tumbling through the winter sky?

I slide my hands around her slim waist, drawing her onto my lap. Her legs wrap around me as she kisses me delicately. But this delicate movement is slowly killing me and my grip tightens. It's enough to drive people insane, this wanting. A yearning that sings from every fibre, every atom in your body, reaching, fingertips brushing so delicately, infinitely hoping and never satisfied. My hands skim under her school shirt, stroking her soft skin. She breathes my name and it floats into my ear, winding it's self into my memories. Our kisses turn deeper, stronger, and more desperate.

"Luna..." She hums against my neck. I shiver and make an 'mmhmm' sound in acknowledgement. "I should get back. Harry and Ron will wonder where I am." She explains breathlessly as I trail kisses down her collarbone.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I say, pulling away reluctantly.

"Yes." She lies. I know she is lying. I can see the self hatred reflecting in her eyes.

She gives me a peck on the lips and untangles herself. I watch her go. I have a feeling this was a first and a last all at once. I don't want dinner. I don't want Hermione. Suddenly, all I want is to cry. It's all so silly. _Hermione Granger loves me!_ And I'm sitting here and I know... it was a lie.

I am a dreamer and Hermione is not. Her world is logic, reason, judgment and sense. I wonder why she likes _Alice in Wonderland _at all because Alice is like me. Our lives are nonsense, drivel, gobbledygook and babble. We are noise and twaddle, jabber and gibberish.

We had trouble staying prudent because we had dreams. Dreams that acknowledged the idea of an infinite universe and explored the deepest depths of an ocean. Dreams that were so powerful and beyond control that they, themselves, refused to be called simply dreams. Into what did those days fade? It never ceases to haunt me. I long for those days; to dream as if I could touch the edges of a descending sun and never dwindle away with the melting snow. I long to dive back into our peregrinating soul.

Hermione could love me but she could never be with me. Her life could have no room for me in its logical path. I miss her already.

_The contingency of your broken promises feels like shattered glass mutilating my skin; like being submerged in your acidic embodiment. I believed that we would be infinite, boundless. Yet the threat of you leaving once again overshadows my hope for eternity. But perhaps the anticipation of this pain is worse than the actual agony itself. You leave me here, disconcerted by the uncertainty of it all._

I have no idea what the time is, I have no idea if my absence will be noticed.

I curl up into the pillows, drawing blankets around my frail shoulders and sighing. I will sleep in the vortex of our promises made never to be kept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Last chapter, ooh. *dramatic lighting and music* I figured I'd just explain this quickly: I'm going to end the story like this because of how because of An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten, that is talked about in The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, but isn't actually a real book, ends. If you have read TFIOS you might guess how this ends. Reviews=smiles?**

Waking up and remembering. I lie in my cocoon of silky pillows and fluffy blankets and I wonder.

I rise cautiously. There is no need. I am safe, secure and protected, here in the heart of Hogwarts. The walls of the rooms are still covered in thousands of dusty books, beautiful tales and lives spread out. They aren't just any books. They are Hermione's favourites and my favourites. My eyes skip the wondrous titles: _Alice in Wonderland, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, Anthony and Cleopatra, Between Shades of Grey, the Secret Garden..._

I slide out a book. Its cover is blank, worn chocolate brown leather. I open it carefully, the pages creasing slightly, every page is full. _Hermione Jean Granger _is printed delicately in the top corner of the first page, and below that a start date and an end date. I count back. Hermione's thirteenth birthday, ending this morning with the last entry. I slip the diary back into place. I remove it again. I am going through the movements but I am not sure if I can bring myself to read the gentle slopping words that look so pretty but could easily tear out my very soul. I flick to the last entry... _Dear Luna..._ She meant for me to read this.

_Dear Luna_

_I wish to be nothing more than a distant memory in your mind. Better yet, I wish that memory was completely gone. I wish you had never met me. Sounds morose, doesn't it? No. I wish these things because I know the pain I have caused you. This is not about me, it is, and has always been, about you. I want you to marry a writer or an artist, someone who you will admire and to whom you can relate. I want you two to connect in a way you never felt was possible with me. I want you to hold her in your arms and know you wouldn't rather be anywhere else in the world. I want you to have babies with her, wonderful, beautiful babies. Because nothing less could spawn from two such wonderful and beautiful people. I want you to be their Mum too. I know that you will protect them against all the harm in the world. I want you to watch your wife with your children at your side and not once question what could've been with me. I want to disappear completely, like the ghost that never was. _

_I am leaving today. Harry, Ron and I must continue Dumbledore's mission. I want you to know the truth because what I have done to you is awful. I do not plan to return. I plan to take risks and be careless. If I am lost, it will be for the good and if not, I will never be with you .I will marry Ro, happy or not. I did not and will never love you. You must understand that I was confused. You must understand that I should be with Ron. You must understand that lies are worth you being happy but being happy over someone who lies is not right._

_I don't love you._

_Hermione_

She writes words that pull at my heart, dance beneath my eyelids, and compete with the tears that yearn to create steady, rushing rivers on my cheeks. She ends her thoughts. Abruptly. Like an echoing chime, reverberating in the recital hall, ringing with wonder. Blossoming, dominating each crevice of my mind, transfixing my every thought. Until each sings with the truth that she is beautiful. She is a disaster.

I hate her and it doesn't stop me being in love with her. I hate her even more.

I slot the diary back into place and run. I skid through corridors, down stairs and stumble into the entrance.

"Ginny!" I yell. The red haired girl turns and throws me a fleeting look, before turning back the way she was facing. As I reach her side I realise. Harry, Ron and Hermione are roaring away in the swirling carriage and into oblivion. That _letter_ is the only good bye I get.

"I thought you knew." Ginny says after a moment.

"That she was using me for some sick untold reason or that she was leaving?" I spit.

"That she never loved anyone." Ginny shrugs. "She is with Ron because it is expected. Love and crushes aren't Hermione."

"She said those three words. She looked me in the eye and said them." I whisper. Ginny looks closely at me; I wonder who she sees, if she sees me at all. "How is that fair?"

"It isn't." She confirms.

"Do you love Harry?" I ask haphazardly.

"Yes, of course." She protests. I consider kissing her, I consider her reaction, and I consider life.

"We might never see them again. You know how I feel." She reaches out as if to sooth my words away but they pour from me. "But even if they do come back, I never get to really _see _Hermione again. How the fuck do you think that feels?"

"Luna!" She protests, "Stop it!" When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.

"Fuck you, fuck them all." I say simply.

Perhaps the most beautiful things must come from pain. Tragedy has a terrible wonder all its own. Genius is tortured, romantics tantalized by that which they know is impossible yet for which they yearn. The capacity for hope is interwoven with the capacity to desire. It is the most purely human of the base instincts, every man's greatest triumph and failure in one. I am intimately familiar with loss. And though I am without God to pray to I must yet hope against hopes that I will not lose again.

We are not shining stars. I consider getting high. Just a random shot of a thought. I want to feel free, like my feet no longer touch the ground. I walk away from Ginny in a daze. She calls after me but of course does not follow.

It's not right to feel like everyone hates you. That is what my doctor said to me. That is what the little brown pills whispered. That is the feeling I thought Hermione would make go away.

_You build me up to break me down. Earn my trust to shatter it. Steal my weaknesses to exploit them. You heal my heart, only to murder it again. Wipe the blood, only to splatter your own share of it. But still, what would I do without you? Every breath reminds me of the void in my chest, of the colorlessness of life. Every breath is cold, lonely, and meaningless._

I have, need to, don't, wished, will, tried, want, will always, have always, will never, and have never stopped to ponder why I love Hermione so much.

The astronomy tower is full of sunshine and dripping, singing light. The hundreds of spinning, spiral stairs feel like nothing. I feel as if I skip to the railing to peer over into the big wide world.

Always outside... And I am inside. Like a two-headed girl. But no one's putting their fingers on the notches of my spine. No one can touch me, because I keep that bell jar sealed—that death defying dome. And when I die, it will still be sealed, my soul bared for all to see. And then they will realize that, just as I have never made love, I have never written a thing.

The pages are blank, I am blank and the sky is breathing down. It is like magic, stardust and—


End file.
